


Chance Encounters

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU, The Good Fight (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Spit As Lube, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: At the end of a weekend convention in Denver, Barba meets a man who looks surprisingly familiar.For a request for Rafael Barba/Brian Kneef smut. How do you write a character who only had three minutes onscreen? I have no idea, but I tried.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Brian Kneef
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	Chance Encounters

“Brian?”

Barba turned toward the younger man and gave him a quick once-over. “No.”

The young man flushed with alarming speed. “Mr. Kneef—sorry, I just thought—”

“Still no,” Barba interrupted, raising his eyebrows. The man—he couldn’t be more than a year out of law school, if that—looked like he wanted to slink off and crawl into a hole somewhere. Barba took pity on him, and clarified: “I’m Rafael Barba.” He almost added ‘Manhattan ADA’ and stopped himself in the nick of time. It’d been years, and the habit should be long since broken, but it could still sneak up and surprise him sometimes.

Confusion flitted across the young man’s flushed face. “Oh, I—I thought—”

“Jason.” The young man whirled toward the sound of the voice, and Barba turned his head. “Leave Mr.…Barba, was it? Alone. Go away.”

Barba felt a jolt of surprise, but he kept it from his expression as he regarded the newcomer. “Brian Kneef, I presume,” he said as Jason, with a quick look between Barba and Kneef, hurried off as though he’d been kicked.

“Mm,” Kneef agreed, looking Barba up and down with open curiosity as he walked a slow half circle in front of him. Barba couldn’t fully blame him; the resemblance was remarkable, and he found himself wishing he’d shaved the beard before coming to the convention. “Rafael Barba,” Kneef added as though tasting the name in his mouth. “Not from Denver, I presume?”

Barba smoothed a hand down his tie, watching Kneef’s eyes track the movement. “New York.” He’d been at the convention center for most of two days; it was amazing that he and Kneef hadn’t run into each other before now—perhaps as big a coincidence as them both being at the convention in the first place. “You?” he added, but it was just a formality. He held very little curiosity about the other man. Barba had pegged him as an asshole in two seconds, and it wasn’t as though they were going out for drinks to discuss how much they looked alike. Barba had to be at the airport in three hours, and he still had to go check out of his room first.

“Chicago.” Kneef paused, offering Barba a half-smile. “Your father ever been to Chicago?”

Barba matched the sardonic turn of the other man’s lips and cocked an eyebrow. “Has yours ever been to The Bronx?” he returned, and Kneef’s smile stretched into a grin.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re not long-lost brothers.” Kneef tipped his head a bit. His gaze was speculative and sharp. He would be a formidable opponent in a courtroom, and Barba found himself just a little disappointed that they would never find themselves in such a match.

“A good bet,” Barba agreed, glancing at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I need—”

“Right, of course,” Kneef interrupted briskly, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin. “Have a safe flight home, Mr. Barba.”

“You, too,” Barba answered automatically, feeling an unexpected pang of regret when he realized they would likely never cross paths again. Maybe he had a little curiosity, after all.

Kneef searched Barba’s face for a moment and shook his head. “It really is uncanny,” he murmured.

He was right; Kneef’s hair and beard had a lot less gray than Barba’s, but that was surely the result of Just For Men rather than genetics. His suit was expensive—but not in a good way. Nevertheless, it fit him well.

Kneef drew a deep breath through his nose and smiled. “Anyway. See you around,” he said. He straightened his jacket and strode past Barba without waiting for a response, but from the corner of his eye Barba saw the other man cast a not-so-subtle look at his ass as he passed.

Barba glanced around the room, feeling strangely alone. It occurred to him that he should’ve gotten Kneef to pose with him for a selfie to send the SVU. He was sure they would all be amused, and quick with the jokes about how the world didn’t need another Rafael Barba. He smiled to himself at the thought. When he got back to the city, he needed to stop in to say hello. He should swing by his old office, too. He’d sent Carisi a congratulatory message but a face-to-face was long overdue.

Sighing, Barba did his best to shake off the melancholy and headed toward the restrooms. There was no one else in the men’s room, and he was just finishing at the urinal when the door opened and Brian Kneef stepped inside.

“I was thinking,” Kneef said without preamble.

Barba felt a sharp thrill of anticipation that caught him completely by surprise. He zipped himself up and walked to the sink, adding a little extra swagger to his step for Kneef’s benefit. “Were you,” he said.

“How often does a chance like this come along?”

Barba smiled and shook his head as he washed his hands. “Everyone has a doppelgänger, right?”

“How often do they get to fuck?”

Barba wasn’t exactly surprised by the bluntness, but he _was_ a little surprised by his body’s reaction—by the sudden heat pooling low in his belly, by the prickle of awareness across the nape of his neck as Kneef stalked closer. Barba looked into the mirror over the sink and met the other man’s eyes in the reflection.

With both of their faces framed in the glass rectangle, it was easier to pinpoint the differences—Kneef’s beard was fuller, darker; Barba’s hair was trimmed shorter; Kneef was a bit broader than Barba, who’d shed a few pounds since leaving Manhattan—but it also made the resemblance even more striking.

Barba had no particular fantasy about being fucked by himself, but he wouldn’t be required to actually look at Kneef. Barba _was_ interested in being fucked by someone who was clearly very interested in fucking him, and he supposed that might simply be a different shade of narcissism.

Kneef was already noticeably hard in his tailored slacks. Barba couldn’t see the proof in the mirror, but he’d seen it before Kneef had walked up behind him. “Is this what my ass looks like in a suit?” Kneef asked, eyeing Barba’s backside with open appreciation. “Because god _damn_.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Barba said. He could point out that they weren’t the same person—that they probably wouldn’t even look that much alike if one or both of them lost the beard—but he was willing to take the praise instead. He glanced toward the door. There was no lock.

The stalls had doors, though.

Kneef stepped up close behind Barba, not quite touching him but close enough that Barba had to fight the urge to lean back into some contact. “Well?”

“Do you have protection?” Barba asked.

“No.”

Barba didn’t entirely believe him, but he also didn’t _dis_ believe enough to call it out. He didn’t have anything either; his days of quick fucks in public restrooms were long gone, and he was too old to be irresponsible enough to even _consider_ the proposition. No condoms also meant, more than likely, no lube, and Barba liked to think his self-destructive days were also mostly in the past.

He’d never been afraid of a little pain, though.

“We can go back to your room,” Kneef said. The offer was given half-heartedly, and with an undercurrent of annoyance, but it was more than Barba expected.

They stared at each other in the mirror. Kneef raised his eyebrows.

There were at least a dozen reasons for Barba to walk away, but he was already half-hard from the look in Kneef’s eyes and the spicy scent of his cologne. It had been a long time, and while Barba might come to regret his decision he doubted it would make his top ten list of regrets.

He stepped back into Kneef’s space, pressing against him. Kneef didn’t need any more permission; he rolled his hips, grinding his erection against Barba’s ass for several seconds, and bent his head forward so his hot breath was fanning the nape of Barba’s neck.

Barba couldn’t stop his small shiver of anticipation. “No kissing,” he said. His voice had gone a little husky but he didn’t allow himself any embarrassment. His eagerness didn’t compare to Kneef’s.

“No,” Kneef agreed, but he sounded a tad disappointed.

“And don’t damage my clothes,” Barba added.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Kneef’s lips grazed the back of Barba’s neck and his fingers pressed into his hips. “Got a problem sucking my dick?” he asked with his mouth near Barba’s ear.

Barba didn’t relish the idea of kneeling on the bathroom floor, but he knew he wouldn’t have to be there for long. Kneef didn’t need help getting hard, but getting him nice and wet would make things marginally more comfortable for Barba.

Barba turned, stepping away. Kneef let him go, but followed without comment when Barba started toward the stalls. He chose the furthest door, because their feet would be less obvious to anyone who might come into the bathroom, and slipped inside with a cursory look at the toilet and floor. Both seemed reasonably clean.

The space was tight when Kneef stepped in behind him and closed the door. The metal clang of the deadbolt was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Barba felt a frisson of excitement down his spine that he hadn’t felt in years, and he took a few seconds to palm himself with something close to amazement. His plans for the afternoon had certainly taken an unexpected turn.

Kneef ran his hands over Barba’s shoulders and down over his back. He flipped Barba’s jacket up to find the suspender clips hidden beneath, and he hummed in admiration at the way they had Barba’s slacks molded to his ass.

“Rough okay?” Kneef asked. He unfastened the clips, and Barba felt his pants loosen. A moment later, he felt Kneef tug at the back of his waistband, his fingers sliding in to find the silk of Barba’s underwear.

“Sure,” Barba answered, pulling down on his suspenders in the front until the V was behind his neck inside his jacket. “As long as you stop if I tap out.”

“Of course,” Kneef said impatiently. He reached around, feeling blindly for Barba’s fly, his fingers grazing Barba’s erection. Barba pushed his hands aside and unfastened his own pants, turning to face Kneef in the small space.

Barba quickly unbuckled the other man’s belt before unbuttoning, unzipping, and shoving Kneef’s trousers down his hips. Kneef watched from beneath knitted brows, his eyes dark with desire. He pulled his shirt up, holding it halfway up his stomach with one fist, his nostrils flaring as Barba eyed the trail of dark hair that led into his distended briefs.

“I’m going to wreck your throat,” Kneef promised in a low voice.

Barba smirked, flicking a quick glance up at the other man’s face before returning his attention to lower regions. “Thought you wanted my ass,” he murmured, tucking his fingers into the elastic waistband of Kneef’s briefs.

“Oh, I do,” Kneef agreed. There was an edge in his voice that could be dangerous, but it wasn’t fear that was making Barba’s skin tingle. He dragged Kneef’s underwear down as he sank to his knees. He knew he would regret the lack of padding later, but he’d survive.

He studied Kneef’s cock for several seconds, letting the anticipation build. He could feel Kneef’s impatience, and he didn’t object when Kneef slipped his free hand into Barba’s hair to try to urge him nearer. Barba didn’t fight against the pressure of Kneef’s fingertips, instead allowing himself to be pulled forward. He wrapped a fist around Kneef’s erection, using his other hand to free himself from his open fly.

He closed his mouth around Kneef’s cock eagerly; there was no point playing coy. They were short on time, and the blowjob was only the warmup act before the main event, the appetizer before the meal. Barba wanted to be fucked, longed for it with a hollow ache he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Kneef wasted no time pushing his hips forward, driving himself toward the back of Barba’s throat, but Barba’s fist around his shaft thwarted the effort. Kneef grunted in a mixture of pleasure and frustration, his fingers pulling at Barba’s hair hard enough to make his scalp sting.

Despite Kneef’s grip on his hair, Barba drew back, grazing his teeth against the other man’s skin. He paused, running his tongue along Kneef’s slit before sucking roughly at his tip, and Kneef’s hips rocked forward as he muttered a surprised curse.

Kneef let go of his shirt and fisted both hands in Barba’s hair. Barba, who’d not only anticipated the move but goaded Kneef into it, moved his hand from Kneef’s cock and grabbed his hip instead, bracing himself as Kneef drove forward into his throat.

Barba gagged, his fingertips digging into the other man’s hip as his vision blurred. He fought against the urge to struggle; he knew his body would remember the old tricks if he could convince his brain to rely on muscle memory.

He coughed and spluttered, closing his eyes against the lightheadedness. Despite his best intentions, panic started to creep into the fuzzy edges of his thoughts, and his muscles tensed to push at Kneef’s body.

Kneef loosened his grip on Barba’s hair and shifted back, and Barba drew a wet, ragged breath. A string of saliva stretched from his lips to Kneef’s cock. Barba, who knew that Kneef was looking down at him, rolled his eyes upward to meet his stare for a moment before diving forward again. He swallowed Kneef’s length with gusto, relishing the discomfort of having his throat stretched for only a moment before he bobbed his head. He moved quickly, ignoring the tight fists in his hair, concentrating only on the cock in his mouth.

He let the spit flood his mouth and overflow his lips, slurping wetly as he worked up and down the length of Kneef’s cock. He was going to need all the lubrication he could get in a minute.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kneef breathed, holding Barba’s head in place and thrusting hard, forcing his way into Barba’s tired, sore throat. Barba choked, squeezing Kneef’s thigh. His sinuses were on fire and tears leaked down his cheeks. His thoughts began to swim.

Barba shoved a hand into his own pants, tugging himself free from his silk briefs and squeezing roughly at his balls to distract himself from the feeling of suffocation. He was painfully hard, his cock jutting from the maw of his fly.

Kneef released him just as black spots had begun to flare across his blurred vision, and Barba turned his head, gagging and coughing. He pulled his hand from his pants and swiped at his mouth, filling his palm with spit and precum, distantly cursing the beard and mustache for stealing some of the wetness. With his other hand he shoved his pants and underwear further down his ass. It wasn’t easy—his suspenders were still attached in the front, stopped up behind his neck, giving him little room to work. His jacket sleeves were bunched up tight around his biceps. Everything was restricting and uncomfortable.

That was good. He didn’t want any of this to be comfortable.

He got his hand between his legs and fingered himself, quickly and roughly, slicking himself as best he could. He could feel the impatience radiating from Kneef’s body and Barba knew that he was going to get only a minimal amount of prep from the other man. As much as Barba wanted to feel the pain of being stretched open, he had to walk through the Denver International Airport soon—before sitting on a plane for several hours.

He could feel his own saliva trickling down his wrist as he worked his fingers into himself. He didn’t like to admit that there was something thrilling about the sheer _dirtiness_ of the feeling, but his cock was throbbing and he could scarcely remember the last time he’d gotten so hard so quickly.

Kneef was tugging on his hair. Barba looked up at him; for a moment it was surreal, disconcerting, the face staring down at him was so much like the one he saw in the mirror every morning. Barba’s view was that of all the people who’d given him blowjobs over the years and looked up to see him watching; for Kneef, the opposite must be true. If he’d ever given a man oral, he was now seeing himself how he may have looked in the position. Barba didn’t envy him. It was far from glamorous, and he found himself bitterly glad their roles weren’t reversed. He didn’t need to see himself like this, even in facsimile.

He shook the feeling of unreality off and opened his mouth, once more holding Kneef’s leg to steady himself as he swallowed the dripping cock that was prodding insistently at his lips. He was twisted at an awkward angle, working his fingers in and out of his own ass, and his back had already begun to ache.

“Mmhm,” Kneef said, both hands buried in Barba’s hair as he pulled him forward. He didn’t thrust this time, but let Barba set his own pace, working up and down his shaft until Kneef abruptly stepped back. Barba shifted a knee to keep himself upright, and automatically reached up to swipe the drool from his lips again. “Get your ass up in the air,” Kneef said.

Barba lifted his eyebrows and glared up at him, but he rose—almost-gracefully—to his feet.

“What? You want me to say _please_?” Kneef taunted. His shirt flaps were hanging down to either side of his glistening erection, and Barba paused for a moment to admire the sight. Then he turned, slapping a palm against the back wall to catch himself when Kneef put a hand between his shoulder-blades and pushed him forward over the toilet.

Barba stood like that, feet spread shoulder-width apart, hand braced against the wall, cock and tie both pointing toward the toilet beneath him, the air cool against his spit-slicked ass, and waited. Kneef stepped up close behind him, tugging his pants a little lower and running a hand over the curve of Barba’s ass before pulling him open.

Barba heard the other man spit a moment before he felt it hit his skin and trickle down toward his hole. He shifted his feet and resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder. “I do have a flight to catch,” he goaded.

“Hm,” Kneef answered, circling a thumb over Barba’s opening to spread the saliva. A few seconds later, Barba felt the head of the other man’s cock pressing against him, stretching his ring of muscle, and he forced his body to relax into the sensation. “Tight,” Kneef remarked.

Barba tried to prepare himself, expecting a hard thrust to rip him open. He’d given Kneef permission to be rough even though it was going to be worse without proper lubrication, but there was a part of Barba that was worried he wouldn’t be able to handle whatever was dealt. Twenty years ago he would’ve been a lot more confident.

Kneef pushed forward slowly, easing his way in, but the sting quickly turned into a burn and Barba drew a deep breath through his nose. Kneef paused and pulled back. He spat again, this time into his palm, and spread it over the head of his cock before nudging against Barba’s hole. He forced his way in, stopping only after the flared head of his cock had slipped past Barba’s rim.

Barba reached back with his free hand, pulling at his ass in an attempt to open himself up, but his jacket made the movement too difficult so he gave up and grabbed his own cock instead. His balls were still trapped inside his pants, his zipper pressed tight against the base of his shaft. He gave himself a few hard strokes as Kneef forced his way—moving slower than Barba expected—into his ass.

Barba ground his teeth as the burn flared, but the pain was bearable. He liked the feeling of being stretched, opened. Used. He liked the harshness of Kneef’s breaths when he finally sank to the hilt and paused, liked the bruising pressure of his fingers at Barba’s hip and the slightly-frantic way he shoved Barba’s jacket and shirt up his back so he could find more bare skin.

“So tight,” Kneef murmured, his fingers tickling Barba’s spine.

Barba shifted his feet, trying to relax his tense muscles, trying to lean into the discomfort. Kneef moved slowly, withdrawing partway before working his way back in. Barba cursed under his breath and dropped his head, closing his eyes as Kneef grazed over his prostrate.

He jumped when Kneef slapped his ass; the sound was loud, echoing through the room, but the sting was more startling than actually painful. Kneef grabbed double handfuls of Barba’s ass, squeezing and pulling as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

Barba shifted again, trying to find a better angle, and Kneef—to his credit—immediately adjusted his stance. The next thrust found its target, and Barba hummed in assent as his cock twitched and dribbled a fresh pulse of precum.

Kneef grabbed Barba’s waist, hiking his shirt and jacket higher. He hit Barba’s prostate again and again, each stroke designed more to tease than satisfy, and Barba was barely aware of the burn in his ass; his whole body was on fire.

Barba heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, heard the brief sound of voices followed by footsteps on the tile floor, and he froze. His whole body went still and rigid, his breath stopping as he tried to listen over the roar of blood in his ears.

Kneef hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he snapped his hips forward, catching Barba off-guard and nailing his prostate with such a hard, direct hit that Barba almost blacked out. A whimper had slipped past his lips before he could clamp them together. His knees buckled and he grabbed the back of the toilet, holding onto the metal pipe while his other hand curled against the wall.

Kneef had hold of his hips in a tight grip, fingers bruising Barba’s skin as he kept him upright, and he continued to fuck him hard and fast. Barba turned his face into his arm, biting down on his bunched sleeve to keep himself from crying out as he came with a violent shudder.

Kneef gave several more hard thrusts before abruptly withdrawing. He shoved Barba’s shirt out of the way, and a moment later Barba grimaced as he felt the other man’s cum splatter across his ass and lower back. Kneef was quiet, but Barba could hear the faint grunts the other man couldn’t completely silence.

Barba didn’t dare move, concentrating on keeping his legs beneath him now that Kneef was no longer holding him up. He heard, as though from a distance, the man washing his hands at the sink to make a quick escape from the bathroom. He hadn’t said anything, but there was no way he hadn’t heard the distinct sounds coming from the furthest stall. Barba could only hope that he wouldn’t send security.

Barba released a long, shaky breath and let his head hang while he took mental stock of himself. He heard Kneef grabbing a handful of toilet paper from the dispenser but didn’t bother trying to look back. He could hear the faint rustle as the other man cleaned himself up, and then Kneef tossed the wadded paper past Barba’s head into the toilet. Barba stared down at it, watching it drift and spread in the water.

There were a few splatters of his own cum on the toilet seat, and he made a note to clean that up before leaving. Luckily, most had found its way into the water.

Kneef got more paper and started swiping his mess from Barba’s back. Barba waited a few more seconds until his legs felt steadier beneath him, and then said, “It’s fine, leave it,” as he slowly straightened. He slipped himself back into his unpleasantly-damp silk briefs with a grimace and pulled his pants up over his ass. “I need to change before my flight,” he muttered, more to himself than Kneef. He fumbled one hand up under the back of his jacket and the other down into his collar.

“Here, I’ve got it,” Kneef said, lifting Barba’s blazer and tugging his suspenders down to clip them into place.

“Thanks.” Barba tucked in his shirt and buttoned his fly. He heard Kneef buckling his belt.

“Well, I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”

Barba laughed and turned toward him, and Kneef’s face split into a grin. Barba buttoned his jacket with slightly-trembling fingers and ran a hand down his front. “I don’t know about that.” He cocked an eyebrow. “But you’ve got good aim.”

“I aim to please,” Kneef quipped with a flash of teeth, and Barba rolled his eyes. The other man seemed a lot more genial after sex. Kneef leaned closer and straightened Barba’s tie. “You tighten up nicely when you come,” he murmured.

Kneef was already buttoned up, and not a hair was out of place on his head. Aside from a flush high on his cheeks, he looked none the worse for wear. Barba, on the other hand, felt like a wreck.

As though reading his mind, Kneef looked him over with a slight grimace. He reached up and ran his hands through Barba’s hair, smoothing it back into place. “Once you clean your face up, you’ll look fine.” He paused and met Barba’s eyes. Barba was caught off-guard by the sudden feeling of intimacy, and he swallowed reflexively. “You good?”

“I’m good.” The answer was automatic, but it felt mostly true. The real test would come soon enough.

Kneef looked at Barba’s mouth. “No kissing, huh? Shame,” he sighed. Then he squared his shoulders, straightened his jacket, and smiled. “If you’re ever in Chicago, Rafael Barba.” He winked, gave Barba one last once-over, and let himself out of the stall. Barba heard him stroll across the tile floor and out of the bathroom without so much as a pause at the sinks.

“Alright, then,” Barba muttered after a few moments.

* * *

After a rushed cleanup at the hotel, Barba had changed into worn jeans and a short-sleeve white button-up under a dark gray sweater to travel. He was bundled up in a thick coat with gloves and a scarf for the commute, but he stowed the winterwear in his luggage before going through security. He had only his briefcase as a carryon, with the items he couldn’t risk losing.

By the time he reached the gate, it was time to board. He hated feeling rushed, tardy, but he was grateful that he didn’t have to wait. He was tired and cranky, and sore—although not in entirely bad ways.

He scanned the boarding pass on his phone at the gate and walked down the gangplank with the other passengers, only half aware of his surroundings. He wondered if there was a noticeable hitch in his step and smiled a little at the thought. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but maybe he wasn’t as old as he’d feared.

He smiled automatically at the flight attendants greeting him as he entered the plane, but he’d just turned into first class when his steps faltered.

 _Layover at O’Hare_ , he thought, cursing himself as an idiot. It had never occurred to him that they might be on the same flight.

Kneef was scowling down at his phone. There was no one in the seat beside him; it was piled with his briefcase, jacket, a neck pillow, and a small leather satchel, and Barba knew immediately that Kneef had purchased both seats so he wouldn’t have to sit beside anyone for the flight.

Kneef looked up and spotted him. The surprise was there and gone in a flash, and then Kneef’s mouth slanted up into a smirk and his eyebrows lifted. He tilted his head a bit and ran his gaze down the length of Barba’s body. He looked insufferably smug.

Barba felt a hot flush of desire and narrowed his eyes, offering a smile in return. He nodded once, a brief dip of his chin, and continued on to his seat in the next section. He slid his briefcase into the overhead compartment and sighed as he sank carefully into his aisle seat. The window seat was occupied by a teenager with earphones. The middle seat was empty, but he doubted he could count on that good fortune to last.

He squirmed in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. He drew out his phone and checked his email, scrolling and deleting while barely seeing the words. He paused when a flight attendant stopped beside him, and he looked up with a small frown.

“Mr. Barba?”

“Yes?”

She handed him an envelope. There was nothing written on it, and the flap was tucked into the back rather than sealed. Barba’s frown deepened. “You’ve been invited to join your brother in first class.”

His expression smoothed, and he barely suppressed another sigh. “He’s not my brother.”

“Oh, my apologies. I just assumed—”

“It’s okay, I get it,” he assured her.

“You can switch seats now if you’d like,” she said, glancing up and down the aisle. “We’ll begin taxiing in a few minutes, and after that you’ll have to wait until the captain turns off the seatbelt sign.”

“Thank you,” he said, waiting until she was gone before he opened the envelope. He pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it to see a scrawled note in black ink: _Seat’s paid for. Mile-High City to Mile High Club?_

Barba snorted softly and stuffed the paper back into the envelope. He folded the envelope in half and shoved it into his pocket. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to have any sort of sexual congress on a crowded plane, even if there were any way two grown men could reasonably fit into the bathroom together.

 _Two hour layover at O’Hare_ , he thought, considering his newly-discovered set of options. 


End file.
